A Gift of Fate
by NCCJFAN
Summary: FINISHED! Eight years, three months, and fifteen days have passed since Woody and Jordan broke up. Fate brought them back together. Is it a cruel joke, or truly a gift of fate?
1. The gods of fate in Chicago

**Disclaimer: Don't own any of them...because if I did, Woody and Jordan would have been together in season three...Woody would have never gotten so damn cocky, and Devan would have never even been a blip on the screen.**

Chapter One

She still looked the same after all these years....he knew she would. Still the same beautiful, chestnut hair. Still the same gorgeous honey-colored eyes. She hadn't changed a bit.

It was luck that brought him here tonight. Sheer luck. Or a practical joke of fate. He hadn't figured out which one yet. He was in Chicago on a whim...a few days off, somewhere to go he hadn't been before. Chicago fit the bill. Catch a Bulls game. Relax. Chicago on St. Patrick's Day was a real treat. Even more boisterous than Boston had been on March 17. He had been thinking of Boston...how long ago it was....and her, when he had read the poster in his hotel's lobby about the National Medical Examiners Annual Convention. He had joked with one of the clerks about how that was going to be a "really lively bunch." Just out of curiosity, he had requested a program, saying that in his line of work, he often had to consult with medical examiners. He was handed a thick program. He had looked up her name in the index. She was there. As a matter of fact, she was presenting a paper at the convention.

Jordan? Presenting a paper? Time had definitely changed some things....He had arranged to be present at her speech. And that's where he was now. She was still reed-thin. But dressed far more conservatively than he had ever remembered seeing her. Business suit. A red one. Damn. She always did look good in red. Her presentation was flawless. He was impressed. The years had improved her...how many had it been? Eight? Nine?

_Eight years, three months, and 15 days, to be exact,_ he thought.

She concluded her presentation. There was polite applause. She answered a few questions. Then she winded her way off the platform and headed for the bar. She was tired and thirsty and tonight a diet Coke was not going to do the trick. She was here by herself...no one to answer to. She ordered a Scotch, neat. And a double would be better. Alone, at the bar, she began to nurse her Scotch.

"It's not good for a woman to drink alone at a strange bar, in a strange town," said a voice in her ear. She felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. _It couldn't be...not him...not after all this time._ She turned and looked into a pair of blue eyes she had never forgotten, for she saw them everyday.

"Woody...." She could barely breathe the word.

"Can I sit down?" he asked, pointing to the empty barstool beside her.

Speechless, she nodded. "I heard your speech. Good work. Since when did you start doing things like that? Papers? Presentations?"

"Since Garrett and Rene married a few years ago and he stopped wanting to do them....he's slowed down some. Spends more time at home with her."

"Garrett actually married her? I never thought he'd remarry."

"Well...things change."

"You haven't. You're still beautiful, Jordan. Just like I remember."

Jordan winced inwardly and downed half her Scotch. Abruptly, she changed the subject. "So....you know what brings me to Chicago. What brings you?"

"A few days off...had to use up some vacation time. Tickets to a Bulls game."

She was relieved. For a minute, she thought he had found out.

Woody looked down at Jordan's hands that were surrounding her glass. No rings. "Not married, Jo?"

She winced again at his nickname for her. No one had ever called her Jo but him. "Nope. Either I'm too smart or no one will have me," she joked over the rim of her glass. "You?"

"Yeah. For a little while. But it didn't take." His hands were ringless, too. He took a swallow of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry....it must have been difficult for you."

"It didn't last long...and no kids, so as divorces go, it was fairly painless."

Jordan downed the rest of her Scotch. "It's been great seeing you again, Woody. Really great. But I need to go now and get to bed. I've got to give another presentation tomorrow morning and then fly home."

"Back to Boston?"

"Yeah....I'm still there. I don't run anymore...."

Woody chuckled. Some things had definitely changed about the lady. He helped her down from her barstool. "Look, if you're ever in DC give me a call." He took a business card from his wallet, flipped it over and wrote down his personal cell phone number. "I'd love to see you again."

Jordan took the card and looked at the front. He was a special agent with the FBI. "So that's what you did after you left Boston."

"Sort of. I went back to Wisconsin for a while. But like Thomas Wolfe said, 'You can't go home again'." He smiled down at her. "That's where I met Sandra."

"You're wife?"

"My ex-wife. Kewuanne was still too small for me....so I left for greener pastures again. She didn't want to come with me, so we split. That's when I landed a Quantico. And here I am now."

"Special agent....what does that mean?"

"I'm stationed at DC. I look after the President."

Jordan gasped. "You're...."

"That's right..."

"Jesus, Woody...you're the President's body guard?"

"A little more than that. But I can't tell you exactly what. That's classified."

Although still stunned, Jordan quickly regained her composure. "I'm sure you enjoy your work...it must be fascinating. And if I'm ever in DC I'll be sure to look you up." She carefully put his card in purse...making a mental note to make sure it was carefully filed away when she returned home. She may need it if... "I really need to go now."

"I'll walk you to your room." He escorted Jordan to the elevators and up to her room on the eleventh floor. Pausing in front of her door, he took her hand. "It was great seeing you again, Jordan. You do truly look wonderful." He gazed into her honey-colored eyes ... eyes that could still trap him in their depths and warmth. "I hope we can see each other again, soon." He bent down and gently kissed her forehead. "Take care of yourself." And he walked off.

Jordan let herself back into her hotel room, shutting the door and leaning back against it. Her mind was whirling. _Thank God, he doesn't know...he hasn't found out..._nervously she chewed her bottom lip. _But then again, he's FBI... now. He could know and is trying to trap me...or he could know and not care...no, that doesn't seem like Woody. Even after all these years. _

Slowly she pulled away from the door and got ready for bed, her mind still racing. _I have to stay calm...chances are he doesn't know...maybe he'll never know...at least not for awhile yet...one day... maybe. _She took her hair down and brushed it out. Right now, she had to go on the premise that he didn't know. Right now she had to get some sleep – she had one last presentation to give tomorrow. Then she was flying home to Boston. Away from Woody, but back to her memories of him...and what they had....and what she destroyed.


	2. Kewuanne and the FBI

**Chapter Two**

Woody went back to the bar and ordered another beer. _Eight years, three months, and fifteen days,_ he thought, _and she still spins my head whenever she walks in a room. Damn. That's not fair._ _I should be far beyond this by now..._

He thought he was. He had left Boston under the seclusion of night, eight years, three months and fifteen days ago. Right after he had spent most of the night making love to her. A coward's way off on her like that, but it was the only way he could do it. Hell, after the Malden case, he was lucky that she hadn't thrown him out of Boston.

It wasn't supposed to have happened that way. Not the Malden case. Not James committing suicide. Not Max leaving Boston. But it did. It all seemed to dissolve away into nothing, like a child's sandcastle being washed out to sea. And when the tide had gone completely out, he realized there was nothing left on the shore for him. He laughed bitterly to himself and ordered another beer.

Nothing. Not a thing. Not a friend in sight and no girl either. Jordan had been barely speaking to him. So what did he do? The macho thing of course. Submitted his resignation before he was asked or was fired. Requested that it be kept quiet. Packed up his things. Called Cal up in Wisconsin, flew him to Boston, and then had him drive the U-haul with his belongings back to Kewuanne. He would fly home as soon as he had worked his notice.

His last night in Boston...he had gone to the Pogue to find her. He figured he at least owed her a good-bye. She wasn't there. She was at home...feeling under the weather, the bartender said. He made his way to Pearle Street and reluctantly climbed the stairs to the second floor. She had answered his knock and was surprised to see him there. She asked him to come in.

He had meant to tell her goodbye and leave. But he had downed a few at the Pogue. She had already had a few beers that evening at home. He had told her how sorry he was about everything. And she had told him it wasn't his fault...not really. Who could have predicted Malden? One thing led to another and to this day, he wasn't sure who reached for whom first. Honestly, he hadn't cared. She was in his arms and soon clothes were scattered all over her neat apartment. He had carried her to bed and made love to her like a man possessed for the better part of the night, never letting her catch her breath...loving her until she could only gasp and whisper his name on her lips.

Then, before the sun had come up, he had left her. Naked, in the middle of the tangled sheets, sound asleep, not knowing he wouldn't be back. He wasn't proud of the fact. He had done it to survive. He had quietly gotten dressed, and walked back over to her sleeping form. He had gently pushed her hair off her face and ran a loving finger down her cheek. Then he had left, just as quietly, shutting her door, and effectively her, out of his life.

He had flown to Kewuanne and tried to regain his old life there as a sheriff. That had been a joke. He soon found out he wasn't really wanted there and was vastly over qualified for the job. He had been bored to tears. Then a friend had introduced him to Sandra. A tight smile crossed his face. Sandra. Poor girl didn't know what hit her.

She was tiny...blonde...green eyes. A second grade school teacher with no emotional baggage. The exact opposite of Jordan. That was the main attraction. He quickly wooed and won her, despite Cal's warning... "It's a rebound relationship, Wood. They're no good. Sandra's a great girl. You're going to end up hurting her and yourself. You're not over Jordan. In my opinion, for whatever it's worth to you, you never will be. If you want to destroy yourself, go ahead. Just leave Sandra out of it."

But he had been hard-headed. And Cal had been right. Within six months he had married the school teacher and within six days after the wedding, he knew he had made a mistake. That's when he began making inquiries about coming back to Boston. He had been soundly turned down. So instead he sent an application in to Quantico. To his amazement, Rene Walcott had given him a sterling recommendation and he was accepted. He broke the news to Sandra on their one year anniversary. He had hoped, for whatever reason, she would be happy and come with him. Instead she had broke down and cried. "No," she had said. "I want to stay in Kewuanne....start a family."

Woody had shook his head. "No. I want this for me...for the future. There's no future here for me in Kewuanne, Sandy. And I don't want kids right now...I'm not sure if I ever do." She had cried and so had he, but by the end of the evening, they knew it was over. Them. The marriage. Their future. So they had quickly and quietly divorced. Sandra had been great. No demands. Didn't even want alimony. He had given her his part of their house anyway...just because she deserved it. She had driven him to the airport in Milwaukee. Kissed him good bye and wished him luck. "You deserve it, Woody," she had said. "You're a great guy. Maybe you will get over her someday," she concluded, referring to Jordan.

Made him feel like a damn heel. He ordered another beer. It wasn't enough he could ruin his own life, he had hurt her. He had kissed the top of her blonde head and told her, "I'm not a great guy. I hope you find someone that really loves you, Sandy. Gives you the family you want...that you deserve. If you ever need me...to talk to ....whatever, I'm here for you." He had given her one more hug and turned to leave.

And he hadn't been back to Kewuanne or Wisconsin since. That had been seven years ago. From what Cal had told him, Sandra remarried...to a principal of a local high school. She had two kids. She was happy, but did ask about him to Cal from time to time. She had never called.

He had worked his ass off at Quantico and quickly rose through the ranks of the FBI. His superiors asked him if he was out to set a speed record. He wasn't. He was just very, very focused and had no outside distractions. No wife. No kids. No real family – his mom and dad were very angry at him over the way he did Sandy. They weren't exactly on speaking terms anymore. When the President's office called and asked the FBI for an agent to liaison between the executive office and informants from terrorists groups, Woody got the job. That was five years ago.

The job had taken him all over the world. London. Hong Kong. Baghdad. Iraq. Iran....and places that weren't on the map and were nearly impossible to pronounce. He had never looked back, but worked hard at his job. He was well paid and well thought of.

And lonely. Incredibly, indescribably, lonely. But he had never realized how much until tonight. Until he saw her again...and looked into her eyes. Then it had hit him like a tidal wave, sucking him under and spitting him out back on that shore...that Boston shoreline he thought he had left and forgotten so many years ago. Back at that child's sandcastle that had crumbled through his fingers. The one that he couldn't rebuild....

He sighed and finished off his beer. If Jordan had resented that night they spent together...resented his walking out on her that way, she didn't show it. Maybe the lady no longer held grudges. Maybe he had taken her too much by surprise. Or maybe she was over him and didn't care anymore.


	3. A Reason to Stay in Boston

Jordan sighed and sat back in her seat on the airplane. She had gotten through the night and through the morning. She had half-way expected to see Woody at her last presentation, but he had been nowhere in sight. In a way she was glad...and in a way she was disappointed. He had definitely taken her by surprise last night...and not in a good way. The last person she had expected to talk to in a hotel bar in Chicago was Woodrow Wilson Hoyt.

How long had it been? Eight years. A long time. A life time, by some accounts. It was for her and how much those years had changed her. She had grown up, she had matured. She was an adult now in every sense of the word. She had her own house now...not an apartment. She still owned the bar...a very profitable bar. And she was now just under Garrett's rank at the morgue. The understanding was, when he retired, she would be the chief medical examiner. She smiled softly to herself. She had worked hard for that. She deserved it.

She looked out the window of the airplane at the landscape slipping by below her. _Chicago...why of all places did he have to have a few days off in Chicago? Is it mere coincidence? Surely he doesn't know more than he is letting on.... He would have said something outright...at least the old Woody would have..._ She felt herself dozing off. She hadn't rested well last night after seeing him...and reliving the memories. She had tossed and turned, remembering his touch...his caresses...his kisses, only finally slipping off to sleep a mere two hours before her wake up call.

The stewardess's voice announcing their flight landing in Boston woke Jordan up. She disembarked, retrieved her bags and made her way to her car. Climbing in, she headed for her father's house.

Max had come back to Boston a few months after Woody had left. Jordan's emotional life was shattered and Garrett had sought him out, telling him that Jordan needed her father in the worse possible way. She was a wreck and with no emotional anchor in the city, Garrett was deathly afraid she would run again...and this time no one would be able to bring her back. Max had immediately returned home and took Jordan back into his house to get her back on her feet. "You can win this thing," he had told her. "You're bigger than it is."

And he had been right. One day, then the next. Getting through it. Bit by bit, she had regained her mental footing and flourished. She had to. She had no other choice. She bought a house near Max's and gave up her apartment. She began to make a real life for herself. Five years ago, Max had met Helen. A nice lady, a few years younger than he was, and a widow. They had been introduced at a church raffle and hit it off immediately. He had brought her home to meet Jordan. "Be nice," he had warned her daughter, whose emotional feathers were a bit rankled at the thought of another woman sharing her father's affections.

His warning never had needed to be uttered. Jordan quickly fell in love with this woman who not only adored her father thoroughly, but his daughter just as well. "I never had a daughter," she had told Jordan, "I have a son. So having you nearby is a treat...I've always wanted a daughter." Jordan had told her dad Helen was a "keeper." So Max and Helen had gotten married. And Jordan's family expanded again, to not only include a step-mother, but also a step-brother.

Helen's son's name was Randy. He was two years older than Jordan and was an orthodontist in Boston. Jordan had always thought that Helen and her dad secretly hoped she and Randy would hit it off, but it never happened. Jordan and Randy got along famously—at last she had a real big brother—but Randy's heart belonged to a young lady named Caroline. Three years ago, Randy and Caroline had married and now they were the proud parents of an infant son named Hunter. Jordan was an aunt. She smiled at the way her life had turned out...it was good.

Pulling into her father's driveway, she couldn't help but wonder differently her outcome would have been if Woody had stayed in Boston. Or if she had left Boston...That was a laugh. She could never leave Boston. At least not now. And the reason she couldn't soon came bounding down the steps of her grandfather's house.

"Mom! You're home!"

Jordan scooped up her seven year-old daughter. "Yes. I am home!" She spun Meghan around in her arms.

"Did you bring me anything?"

Jordan chuckled. "Of course, but it's in my suitcase. You'll have to wait until we get home. Have you been a good girl for Grandpa Max and Grandma Helen?"

"She's been as good as gold," Helen said, descending the steps to hug Jordan. "Did you have a good trip, dear? Are you hungry? I saved some lunch for you."

"Starved. Thanks. I appreciate it." Taking Meghan by one hand and her pocketbook in the other, she entered the house. "Is Dad here?"

"He's in his workshop. Is anything wrong, Jordan?" Helen caught the look in Jordan's eyes. She had become almost as adept as Max was about reading Jordan's moods.

"Not really. No. I just need to talk to him a minute...alone?"

Helen motioned her out and took Meghan with her into the kitchen. Jordan opened the door to Max's workshop...a part of the garage he and Helen had converted for him to tinker in. "Dad?" she called out.

"Jordan! You're home. Come here and give your old man a hug."

Walking over and hugging him, she asked, "Did Meghan give you any trouble?"

"Meghan? Trouble? You've got to be kidding. She doesn't take after her mother on that one," Max chuckled. "So how'd it go? How was Chicago and your presentations?"

Jordan quickly went on to fill him in on those and then said, "You'll never guess who I ran into at the hotel bar?"

"Who?"

"Woody."

Max was startled for a moment and was completely silent for so long, Jordan turned around and looked at him closely. "Dad? You okay?"

"Yeah. Sure. Did he say why he was there?"

"Said he had few days off and was in Chicago for a Bulls game."

"Did he ask any questions?"

"No..."

"Then all is well?"

"Not exactly. He's a special agent with the FBI in DC, Dad. He works directly for the President. He's not a body guard, but something more. He couldn't tell me exactly what because it is classified."

"So you think he may have used some of his clout to pull some strings and find out things you don't really want him to know now?"

"Yeah – the thought did cross my mind."

"Did he seem suspicious about anything?"

"No...it seemed normal. I didn't talk with him long."

"Good girl. He probably doesn't realize a thing."

"But seeing me again may have made him curious enough to try to relive his past. Then he will find out. However, he did give me his card, so I know how to get in touch with him if the need arises."

"Good. I wouldn't worry too much about it, Jordan. Chances are, he's going back to DC and his life. You won't hear anything from him again."

Jordan nodded. She could only hope he was right.


	4. Deception and other Underhanded Deeds

**Chapter 4**

Woody pulled into his parking space at the FBI headquarters in DC. He had gotten back from Chicago the night before. Other than seeing Jordan in the bar that one time, he had not pushed his luck to find her again. Partly because he was afraid she would ask him questions he didn't want to answer right now. And partly because seeing her reminded him of the void in his life...one that he had never really been able to fill.

So the last two days he was in Chicago, he had wandered the city. Visiting the regular tourist attractions. Taking in the long-waited for Bulls game. Basically killing time until it was time to go back to work. For once, he was eager to get back to the grind. Not because he desired the stability of work any longer...God knows while his job was stable, the world situation wasn't and no one knew where the next throw of the terrorist dice would land him. No, it wasn't that. He was anxious to get back into his office. To his computer...his ticket to anywhere and anyone in the world without leaving his desk. _If Nigel Townsend thought his computer system rocked, he'd give his eyeteeth and American citizenship to play with mine,_ Woody thought, turning on his hard drive and listening to it boot up. Pulling some files from his bottom drawer and spreading them out on his desk, he took off his coat and appeared to settle down to work. His supervisor passed by his door. "Morning, Hoyt. Good trip?"

"Very good, sir."

"Ready to get back to work, I see."

"Yes, sir."

"Then carry on. There's a meeting at one in my office I need you to be at. Can you make it?" It was a command couched as a question.

"I'll be there, sir."

"Good."

The files on his desk were a ruse. He really wasn't working on anything much right now and probably wouldn't be in high demand until after the meeting at one. He appeared to be working so that no one would bother him. What he was doing was checking up on Jordan. His curiosity had been peaked at the bar. No wedding bands. No rings. Eight years had passed. She had told him little about herself. He had told her more about his past. When he had sat down to think about it that night, he still knew nothing...other than she was still an ME. Still in Boston. What had happened to her in those eight years? Why did he care? He wasn't sure. He just did.

She was still working for the state of Massachusetts. She was in the system. So she should be fairly easy to access. From memory he typed in her full name and address. The system declined. Invalid address. _So she's moved_, he thought. He typed in Max's address. Again the system declined. Invalid address. _Not there either_. _Hmmm...._ Determined to find out more, he pulled an old briefcase out from beside one of his file cabinets. It was dusty, worn with age. It was the one he carried when he was a detective with the Boston PD. Opening it, and rifling through some old files, he found it. Her ID number. Again, he punched in her name and her ID number. Her picture came up on the screen. He then typed in her social security number. The system opened up and spit the command back at him: ACCESS DENIED. CLASSIFIED INFORMATION. APPROVED MANAGEMENT ONLY And it asked for another password.

_Damn. What has she gotten herself into?_ It had to be serious for a medical examiner's files to be classified. Doggedly, he typed in the morgues webpage address. It soon appeared. Her name was there. Along with Garrett's, Nigel's, Bug's, Lily's....where was Peter's? It wasn't there. A few names were there he wasn't familiar with .... When he clicked on her name, her biography told him nothing he didn't already know. Graduate of Tufts. Residency at Massachusetts General. Employed by the state as an ME for 12 years. Member in good standing of all the various coroner and ME associations required. Nothing he didn't already know and nothing that would shed any light on the last eight years.

Trying another tact, he typed her full name into the FBI's search engine. He hit pay dirt. She had testified at a drug lord's trial three years ago. Pretty heavy stuff. Scrolling down further, he came to a case she had again testified in about a year or so after he left Boston...one of his cases...he should have been called back to testify on...but he was in Quantico and had been unreachable. It was the Fitzsimmons case. Rifling back through the briefcase again, he pulled his copy of the file and refreshed his memory. Rich husband. Suspected of murdering his heiress wife for her to find out he had gambled most of his money away and needed her money to pay off his debts. She wouldn't give it to him, so he killed her to get it out of her estate. Only problem was the wife never put the husband in her will. Everything was left to her children from a previous marriage. The estate was tied up in court for years. Meanwhile, the husband died in jail, still proclaiming his innocence. His children had always vowed to get even.

Personal wise, he found out even more. She had bought a new car two years ago. She had a mortgage on a house with a familiar address.._ she's moved down the street from Max, _he thought. Her phone number hadn't changed from the one she had on Pearle Street. She paid her taxes before the deadline. He tried to scroll down further. Again, the ACCESS DENIED. CLASSIFIED INFORMATION warning came up. _What has she done? _He continued to wonder that most of the day...and came up with no satisfactory answers.

* * *

Jordan dropped Meghan off at St. Mary's with a sigh of relief. Watching her daughter climb the steps in her Catholic girl school uniform, brown braids swinging back and forth down her back, she thought that for once, it was good to be Monday. For once she was glad to be back at work. For once, normal seemed highly attractive and desirable. She pulled into her parking slot and rode the elevator to her office.

Seeing Woody had thrown her emotions into a tail spin. She hadn't questioned him why he had left her that night...alone and bare in her apartment, with no explanation. She wasn't sure she wanted his answer. She thought she knew well enough herself. She had driven him away, just like she had just about nearly driven everyone away in the pursuit of her mother's killer. She had lived with that guilt for weeks after the Malden event...questioning her actions...questioning her own DNA. Did some of her seeming self-destructive madness come from her mother? Or Malden? Was Malden her father? Did she really want to know? Then Woody's abandonment had nearly pushed her over the edge. She was ready to give up...give into the demons that plagued her mind...nearly ready to join James in the muddy Charles, when a positive pregnancy test proved her salvation.

She had told Garrett she was pregnant. He questioned who the father was. She hedged on that one, telling him she'd let him know as soon as she told the father. It was Garrett who summoned Max home. The pregnancy had pulled them back together, but everyone questioned who the father was. Everyone. Max. Nigel. Bug. Lily. Who was he? Do we know him? Thank God for Peter, was all Jordan had to say.

Peter had come into her office the morning she was running her pregnancy test, interrupting her and scaring her nearly to death. The contents of the test had spilled on the floor, ruining the outcome. She had erupted into tears and Peter had held her until she stopped crying. "Don't worry, we'll get another one," he had said. He went into trace, where they kept them for running tests on female victims, and retrieved another one. He had waited with her for the results. It was positive. Jordan was barely keeping it together. "Wanna talk about it?" he had asked.

Jordan didn't know why, but she opened up to him. They had gone out for coffee and she told him the whole sordid story of Woody, his leaving, and where she was at now. "So the baby's Woody's" he said, shredding his napkin to bits. She had nodded. "Why don't you just tell him?" he had logically asked.

"He's gone...left...Boston. I don't know where he's at..."

"Nigel could find him."

"He evidently feels he's got to get away. I don't want to bring him back for me...for this reason. I think we both need some time."

"But meanwhile, everyone is going to be driving you crazy about it."

"Yeah."

"Well, think up another father."

Jordan had laughed at him. "Everyone knows that Woody is the only man I've been seeing half-way steady for years."

"Have a one night stand."

"With who?"

"With me."

Jordan had turned pale with shock. "No, let me explain," Peter had continued. "Let them _think_ you've had a one night stand with me and that I'm the father. It can't hurt. Because by the time you let them know you're pregnant and they think it was from a fling with me, I'll be long gone..."

"Peter?" It was a question...a request for an explanation.

He had pulled a letter out of his jacket pocket. "It's from my mother's family in Czechoslovak. They're asking me to come to work there. I'm taking them up on the offer. I'm ready to move from Boston."

She had swallowed hard. "When do you leave?"

"In a week. I gave Macy my letter of resignation two days ago. He just hasn't mentioned it at my request." He had looked at her with those big eyes of his. "We have a couple of days to work up to it...flirt....all that stuff. We go to the Pogue Friday night when everyone's there. We make sure we're seen leaving together. I stay all night at your apartment _on your couch_. The next day, we get up and go into work, still locked at the lip, me in the clothes I wore the night before. By the time you announce you're pregnant, I'll be in Czechoslovak, and everyone will think I'm a cad for running out on you. It will buy you time to get up the nerve to tell Woody. Problem solved."

She had swallowed hard again. It would work. It had to. Gamely, she had stuck out her hand. "Deal," she said.

He had shaken her hand, grinning. "Deal. My last underhanded deed with the great Dr. Cavanaugh, and everyone will think I'm at least half-way cool because they'll think I got it on with the 'hot ME'."

Jordan had blushed and grinned at him.

Peter's plan had worked. Beautifully. For two days they had publicly flirted with each other. In and out of the office. Garrett had shot her a warning glance more than once. Nigel had looked appalled. Doggedly, they kept it up, capping the week off with Bug and Nigel and Lily seeing them leave the Pogue together after a night of drinking and dancing. Peter had come back with her to her apartment, slept on the couch, and went back with her to work the next morning in the same clothes he had left in. They had giggled and looked at each other with puppy-dog eyes all day. The next morning, Peter had left for Czechoslovak. It was a done deal.

Three weeks later, she announced she was pregnant. And all hell broke loose. If it hadn't been for her fragile emotional state, Garrett would have killed her, she was sure.

And it was in a moment of weakness...during labor, she had confessed to her father and Garrett that the baby was really Woody's. She had explained what happened...why she couldn't tell him...and that Peter only played his part to help her out...buy her some time. Max had been insistent that she tell Woody as soon as she was able. Meghan was Woody's daughter. He had a right to know.

So as soon as she was able, she tried to reach Woody. He had long since gotten rid of his Boston cell phone. Nigel had begun looking for him in Wisconsin. He had been there, but left. They could find no trace of him then. It was like he had fallen off the face of the earth. Now she knew why. He had been in Quantico then and the FBI protects their own.

She had debated all weekend whether or not to phone him or e-mail him the news....and decided against it. If Meghan ever asked, she would tell her. And when she turned 18, if she wanted to find her father, Jordan would give her the business card Woody had passed to her in the Chicago bar. Until then, it was she and Meghan. And that was enough.


	5. Taken in the Night

A month passed since Jordan had returned from Chicago. A month. No word from Woody. She had heaved a sigh of relief. He evidently wasn't after Jordan...or his daughter. It had all been a strange fluke of fate. Scary. Weird. But it was over. Her dad had been right.

Jordan's routine went back to normal. Get up. Cook breakfast. Get Meghan to school. Go to work. Pick her daughter up at Max's after working at the morgue. Go home. Fix dinner. Help with homework. Then on Monday and Wednesday, Meghan had dance lessons. On Tuesdays, it was Girl Scouts. Thursdays was catechism. The weekends she kept blessedly free for whatever Meghan wanted to do: sleepovers, birthday parties, skating....whatever. And if she had to work doubles at the morgue, or was on rotation, Max and Helen took over.

In short, Jordan loved being a mom. Meghan had fulfilled her in more ways than she ever thought was possible. And she would be damned if anyone would mess that up. Including Woodrow Hoyt. Jordan's second biggest fear in life was Woody's anger over her concealing his daughter from him. Her first and foremost fear is that if he ever found out about Meghan, he would try to take her away. It wasn't like she hadn't tried to find him. She had_. But maybe not hard enough,_ she had thought guiltily.

The days had turned into weeks since she left Chicago and she had put the fate-crossed incident behind her until one morning when she went to get Meghan up for school. Jordan had risen earlier, cooked breakfast, and had climbed back up the stairs to call her daughter. Meghan was a "ready-riser," the exact opposite of her mother. She rose cheerfully at the first call, ready to face the day with a smile and a song. So much like Woody that Jordan had often grimaced to herself. She tapped on Meghan's door. "Get up, Sweetie," she called. There was no response on the other side. "Meghan?" Jordan questioned. Then a little louder, she called her daughter's name again. "Meghan!" Still no answer. Jordan pushed open the door.

The bed was empty. The window beside the bed was open. There was note on the pillow.

Fighting the urge to throw the covers back and look thoroughly, Jordan picked up the note with a shaky hand. _We have your daughter. We will contact you later with instructions._ She ran from the room and dialed 911.

Jordan's house was soon filed with more police than she ever knew existed in the Boston PD. They dusted Meghan's room. No prints. The luminal revealed no blood. The note and bed clothes had been retrieved for trace evidence. Downstairs, Max and Helen were being questioned. Garrett and Nigel were there for moral support.

Jordan answered all their questions. She was grateful that Eddie Winslow and Annie Capra had been the lead detectives on call. Yes, she was sure the window was locked. No, she didn't have an alarm system – but by God she would get one as soon as Meghan was back home. Yes, she had checked on her daughter before she had turned in at eleven. No, she didn't hear a thing during the night. Weary, she finally threw her hands up in the air and shouted at Eddie, "Do something! I've answered all the questions. I don't know...I don't know who could have done this."

"We're doing all we can," Eddie answered. "But you have to know, we have to go through all routine...eliminate....you know..."

Jordan nodded. "They're going to call...wiretaps...are they?"

"They're being put on now Dr. Cavanaugh. And there's going to be a tracer put on your cell phone incase they decide to call it," Annie replied.

Jordan nodded again. Then a thought struck her. Walking over to Nigel, she tugged him down to her level. "Nige...."

"What love?"

"Can I borrow your cell phone?"

"What? Jordan why..."

"Don't ask questions...I just need to borrow it and make a call they don't need to know about. They've got a tracer put on mine."

Wordlessly, Nigel handed her his phone. She went into the kitchen to retrieve her purse. Pulling Woody's card from her billfold, she dialed his personal cell phone number. It was still early. Maybe he was still at home. He answered on the second ring.

"Hello," he said groggily. He had been asleep.

"Woody, it's Jordan..."

"Jordan?" He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "The last time you called me this early was on the Fitzsimmons case."

"Woody, I need your help..."

_Oh great,_ he thought_. Now she's going to want to start using my FBI contacts to solve cases._

"I have an emergency, Wood." He heard her voice break. She had his attention now.

"I know I didn't tell you anything about this in Chicago, but I have a daughter, Woody. And she's been kidnapped."

He was fully awake now. A daughter. Jordan had a daughter. And she had been _kidnapped?_

"Are you sure, Jo?"

"Yes. I have a note....the window was broken into...."

"I'm on my way."

"You can do that?"

"Hell, yes. For you, I will." He hung up and made flight reservations to Boston.

* * *

Woody's flight had been uneventful, but his thoughts had been anything but. Jordan had a daughter. She was a mother. Somehow, he could not picture it. _Let's see. She moved from Pearle Street to her house four years ago. That may make the little girl three or four years-old._ He had frowned at that. The chances of a live retrieval with a kid that age were not promising. _I wonder who the father is...and why he isn't in the picture. I can't imagine a man impregnating Jordan Cavanaugh and then not sticking around to see the outcome. _The plane landed and he took a cab to Jordan's house. The yard was still full of detectives, none he recognized. He spotted Garrett on the porch. Shaking hands with the ME, he asked, "How's Jordan doing?"

"Holding it together, but barely. She jumps every time the phone rings."

"Kidnappers call yet?"

"No."

Woody began to push open Jordan's front door. He was stopped by another uniform officer. Flashing his FBI badge, the officer backed off and let him in. "Where's she at?" he asked Garrett.

"Living room."

Jordan was there, sitting on the couch, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her eyes red-rimmed. She looked like she had been to hell and back – several times. She held out her hand to Woody. "Can you help me," she asked, her voice breaking on every word. "Can you help me find my baby?"

Woody couldn't help himself. He pulled her to him and hugged her, cradling her slight form against his. "Sure, Jo. I'll do everything I can. Can you take me to her room?" Jordan led him upstairs. She stood outside the lavender and pink room while he asked the detectives a few questions. Making a few notes, he then approached Jordan again. "I need to see a picture....the most recent one if you have it." Jordan had motioned him to her bedroom.

Woody had noticed a swing set in the back of the house when he pulled up in the cab, along with a pink playhouse, complete with gingerbread trim. _A gift from Max, I bet_, he had thought. He also had noticed a bike on the porch...a bike much too large for a three to four year-old girl. He had chalked that up to one of the neighborhood kids. But when Jordan handed him the picture from her nightstand, he felt his world shift and the bike suddenly made sense.

This was no little girl. It was a seven year-old. And he knew the age exactly, because this little girl had his eyes.

"Jordan," he said with a warning note, his voice growing hard.

Jordan swallowed and backed up against the bed. This was the moment she had been dreading. "I tried to find you, Woody. But after you left Wisconsin, I couldn't locate you. You didn't exactly keep in touch." She sat down on the side of her bed.

Woody ran his hand through his hair. He realized during part of that period he had been in Quantico. That was no excuse, but this was not the time. "We will talk about this Jordan. Believe me, we will. But not now. You're in no condition and I need to find _our_ daughter. Can you begin by telling me what you named her?"

"Meghan. Meghan Marie Cavanaugh," she replied weakly, looking into Woody's eyes. They were just as hard as his voice was cold. "Please find her Woody," she begged.

* * *

Hours passed like days. The Boston PD was pulling out all the stops to find Meghan. Woody had called in all his FBI contacts and phoned his boss to say he needed a personal leave. It was his daughter that had been kidnapped. Agent Hinshaw had concurred, allowing him access to sources that the Boston PD could only dream about. "I didn't know you had family, Woody," he said.

"Let's just say it was very recent news to me, too, sir."

"Anything you need, you have it. And the President says good luck and you're in his prayers."

"Thank you, sir. And thank him for me, too."

The kidnappers had called. Jordan answered the phone, but could not keep them on the line long enough for the wiretap to take. They had simply said look for more instructions tomorrow. Jordan was nearly beside herself. Garrett had called in Dr. Stiles to give her something to calm her down. Gradually, one by one, the detectives left, leaving only the wiretap specialist in the kitchen and he and Jordan in the living room.

Despite his anger at her...he felt for Jordan. He was worrying over a daughter he had never met. She was dealing with seven years of memories, plus her pregnancy. "Tell me about her, Jo. Tell me about Meghan," he had requested softly, sitting down beside her on the couch. He thought it might help her to talk about something other than the kidnapping.

She got up from her place on the couch and walked over the bookcase beside the fireplace, kneeling down to the lowest shelf. She motioned Woody over. Jordan had made scrapbooks, one for every year of Meghan's life, plus her pregnancy. Woody had never known Jordan had a creative side...he had always seen her in the morgue or in the Pogue. By the time he was through looking through the scrapbooks, he felt he knew his daughter well. She loved dance. Hated peas. Earned 19 badges so far in Girl Scouts. Weighed 7 pounds, two ounces when born. He sighed. "You've done a good job, Jo."

"Thanks," she answered, in a small voice. "Meghan's been my whole life...ever since...."

"Ever since I walked out on you that night."

Her silence answered his question. "Why didn't you marry someone else, Jordan?"

"Meghan and I....we're a big package deal. And I didn't want to marry anyone who may resent the time I spend with my daughter. There just wasn't any room in my life for anyone else but her, really, for the past eight years."

"I wish I would have known...."

"I did try to get in touch with you. Honestly. For about a year or so after she was born. Even called your family in Kewuanne. Then I gave up. Maybe I should have tried harder, but my life got real busy."

"Mom and Dad know they have a granddaughter?"

"No...I called when I was pregnant. They made it clear they really didn't want to talk to anyone from Boston...especially me. I think they believe I'm the reason you left..."

"They didn't tell you anything about me?"

"No.. not where you were, that you had been married...nothing."

"I still wish I could have known...been here."

"What would it have changed, Woody?"

"This may not have happened."

"You can't blame yourself for something you have no control over. We don't know why it happened...it can't be money...I don't have much. It's probably the result of someone, somewhere down the line I really pissed off..."

"You can't blame yourself for this Jordan."

"Then who else is there to blame?"


	6. Phone Calls and Sleepless Nights

Woody watched Jordan as she slept on the couch. She wouldn't go back upstairs to sleep. Said she wouldn't until Meghan came home. Hell, it was hard enough to get her to give up and just get some rest. He had finally made her take some of the medicine that Dr. Stiles had left for her. She needed to sleep. So did he...but he still had a myriad of things to do before he could doze for a little while.

Meghan. Of all the ways to spell the name, leave it to Jordan to prefer the Irish version. He smiled slightly. In a way he felt like he had gotten to know his daughter tonight. A daughter he had been denied seven years. How would she take it, knowing she had a father now? Jordan said she had just begun to ask questions...Would she think that he had abandoned her and her mother all these years, and just suddenly show up now? Woody loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He had been on his computer for hours, searching his data bases...going over potential leads that had been e-mailed to him. He had gotten a couple of good ones, but wasn't about to share them with anyone yet...least of all Jordan. Not until he had gotten some substantial proof that his hunch was correct. If he was right, Jordan was not in any way to blame. He was. And the guilt was nearly eating him alive. He would make the kidnappers pay...and pay dearly. But until they phoned again, he couldn't be sure...and he wasn't about to risk guessing.

Grimly, he settled down in easy chair to try to get some rest before day broke. Jordan was curled up on the couch. He wished he could go to her...give her some good news...hold her. In a way he couldn't blame her for not trying harder to find him. The way he left Boston...and her...gave her reason to think twice. Add to that the fact that he had never phoned...never e-mailed her...to see if she was okay. He knew he didn't use a condom that night...he had been too tipsy to think about it. He took it for granted that perhaps she had used something...Truth was, once the clothes began to come off, neither one of them thought clearly for hours...hell, he hadn't for days.

She would never know how hard it was for him to leave her that morning...turn and walk out of her apartment, thinking then, that he wouldn't ever see her again. Why didn't he just turn around and stay in her bedroom? Wake up with her....hold her again? He sighed and shifted in the chair to try to gain a more comfortable position. If he had, he probably would not only know his daughter, but also be married to her mother. Not an unpleasant thought. And there'd probably be another little Hoyt or two running around to keep Meghan company.

"If you're uncomfortable, the guest room is made up," Jordan said from the couch. She had heard him shift around in the chair.

"No, that's okay. I need to be near the phone and my computer... and I don't want to leave you down here by yourself."

Jordan sighed. "It's a long night, isn't it Woody? I keep worrying about her....is she warm ... how scared is she? Did she have dinner? Why did they take her? Is it because of a case I worked on? Is it something I did?" Woody heard her try to stifle back the sobs that were beginning to find their place in her throat again. He pulled himself up out of the chair, went over to her, and took her in his arms.

"Jo, she's going to be fine...I've got my contacts all over the map on this one."

"Any luck?"

"Yeah. Some promising stuff. We just need to wait until the kidnappers call back." He held her for a minute and stroked her hair.  
  
"Do you think she's okay, Woody?"

"I don't know. All we can do is hope."

* * *

The morning was a fog. More officers. More dusting for prints. Garrett raised the issue of going on the news and talking to the kidnappers that way. Woody quickly vetoed that idea. If the kidnappers were who he thought they were, that would have no effect. It may make them mad. He insisted that they wait for the next phone call. It finally came right after lunch. Jordan picked up the phone.

"Dr. Cavanaugh...so nice talking with you again," said a voice from the receiver.

"Where's my daughter?" Jordan had asked.

"She's with us..."

"Is she safe?"

"She's safe and warm and been fed."

"I don't believe you."

"Really?"

Woody motioned for Jordan to keep them talking to see if the trace would work on the wiretap.

"Really, I don't."

"Well, let's see. I know that there's probably a wiretap on this line right now Dr. Cavanaugh. And I know that they're want you to keep me on the line as long as possible to see if the tracer will kick in and reveal my location. And that's a problem."

"Why's that?"

"Well, because we thought of that...and we've got a blocker on our phone. A very sophisticated blocker. So we can talk all night and the Boston PD will be none the wiser...neither will the FBI.

Now Woody was startled. No one knew he was in town. No one knew he had engaged the FBI to help with the search for Meghan.

"I want to talk to Meghan," Jordan said, her voice breaking just a bit.

"Certainly...we'll be glad to let you speak with her." There was rustle and Jordan heard her daughter on the phone. Woody was listening through his headset.

"Mom?"

"I'm right here, honey."

"Mom...I'm scared and I want to come home."

Jordan's heart was breaking... "I know, Sweetie. I'm doing everything they ask me to...I'll get you home soon. Are you okay? Have they hurt you?"

"No...they haven't hurt me, Mom. I'm okay. I miss you. I want to come home."

"I love you, Meghan."

The next voice on the line was the kidnappers. "Dr. Cavanaugh...if you want your daughter back, you must listen very carefully and do exactly what we tell you to do."

"I will."

"We want you to come to an empty parking lot at 3296 South Elm St. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes..."

"Good. Tomorrow night, 10 o'clock, you need to be there and wait outside the phone booth on the north side of the parking lot. Pick up the phone on the second ring. You'll receive further instructions."

"How will I know you'll follow through with this? How will I know you won't hurt Meghan?"

"Dr. Cavanaugh, I can tell you, we really have no interest in your daughter. We did this to get someone's attention."

"Who's? Mine?"

"No....her father's."

Jordan looked at Woody. She was speechless. How did they know? How could they know? Only her father, Garrett, Nigel, Bug, Lily, and Peter had known who was Meghan's dad. And why did they want Woody's attention?

"Her father's?" she questioned. "I'm a single mom."

She heard soft laughter. "I know you are, Dr. Cavanaugh. But everyone has a father, and Meghan's just happens to be Special Agent Hoyt. I'm sure he knows by now he has a daughter, because you've told him... get him to help find her. And I'm sure he knows why she was taken...he may tell you if you ask him. Be sure he comes with you tomorrow night to the parking lot. Meanwhile, you get some rest. Meghan will be fine, and if Special Agent Hoyt behaves himself, you will be reunited with your daughter very soon. I promise she will be well taken care of until then. Good night, Dr. Cavanaugh." And the line went dead.

Jordan hung up the phone and turned to Woody. "What have you done," she quietly asked, "that would put our little girl's life in jeopardy?"


	7. Confessions

Woody hung his head for a moment, suddenly taking great interest in the toes of his shoes. Finally, raising his eyes to meet Jordan's, he asked, "Can we go upstairs for a minute? To your room? Where we can talk without being interrupted or overheard?"

Jordan led the way upstairs, her shoulders still slumping under the weight of worry for her daughter. They reached the top of the stairs and went into her bedroom. Determinedly, she shut the door and turned to look at Woody. "Okay, Hoyt. Spill it. What is going on with you? And why should it concern me? And most of all, why should it involve Meghan?"

"Have a seat, Jo. This is going to take a while," Woody replied, motioning her to the bed. Jordan sat down on the edge, crossing her arms in front of her. _She hasn't changed, too much_, Woody thought_, Still defensive...especially when it comes to protecting her own_. He remembered she would take the same stance with him when she knew she was right about a case. When she knew someone she loved was going to get hurt...It didn't surprise Woody that Jordan was a great mom...her compassion and concern for those she loved was measureless.

"You know what I told you when we saw each other in Chicago?" he began.

"What?"

"When you asked what I did in the FBI and I told you I took care of the President?"

"Yeah...you're like his body guard or something, right?"

"No...remember I told you I was not exactly a body guard, but it was classified and I couldn't really tell you?"

Jordan nodded. She did remember, vaguely. She was so taken with the idea that Woody worked with the President, that she really didn't hear a whole lot after that.

Woody came over and sat beside Jordan on the bed and took her hand. "I do work with the President, Jo. On nearly a daily basis. But I'm not his bodyguard. When I left Kewuanne for Quantico, I was in training to be a special agent. Unlike the other agents who were training with me, I had no distractions. No wife. No kids. No family. So I was able to focus solely on the task at hand. I became good at certain things....certain things that secured me not only a very lucrative and prestigious position, but also a very dangerous one as well."

He paused here, not sure exactly how to tell her. She needed to know...God knows she deserved to...but it was classified. "Jordan, I need to ask you something here. I need to know that beyond a shadow of any doubt that you can keep what I'm about to tell you completely secret. It never leaves this room. We can talk about it together, but you can tell no one...not Max, not Garrett, not Helen....no one. If you tell, if you even barely mention it to another soul, it could put my life in danger."

Jordan nodded, her brown eyes wide and solemn in her tired face. "I promise..."

"About five years ago...after the terrorists threats were stepped up, but before 9-11, the President requested a ...a...liaison of sorts. A middle man, a 'secret agent', for lack of a better word, that could work with the informants from various terrorist organizations. One that could weed out truth from fiction, credible threat from an off-hand remark. I'm that man."

Jordan drew a sharp breath. "Then that means..."

"Yeah, it does. I know almost every terrorist network in the world. I have informants in all the hot spots all over the place. I talk with some of them on a daily basis. I'm great at my job, because I'm probably the most unassuming guy these men have ever laid eyes on. They don't think too much about telling me a lot of what they know. Then I weed it out...discover what's real and what isn't....and report it to the President's office. Most of the time, directly to him."

"So why didn't these guys go after you?"

Woody sighed and squeezed her hand slightly. "Because they also probably know that I don't really care about me...I would have put up a fight, but would not have given up any information about what I know as far as terrorist cells or anything. They would have ended up killing me without retrieving any new knowledge. But somehow...they found out I had a daughter...with you. Before I even knew about it. They also knew that you would run straight to me when Meghan was kidnapped, telling me about my impending fatherhood.

"And they also knew me well enough to realize that once I discovered that Meghan was my daughter, and her life could be in danger, I'd do anything for her. Give up any information. Give my life...so she would be safe. So it's not you that got our daughter into this situation. You didn't piss anyone off this badly. I did."

"Who are these guys, Wood?"

Woody sighed deeply. "Right now, I'm not completely certain. I've got some leads I'm still having tracked down."

Jordan looked over at him. This revelation seemed to have aged Woody years beyond what he really was. His face looked haggard...lined with worry...and did she see regret? Regret from what? Her Farm Boy was gone...probably vanished years ago...with the weight of his job. The weight of his past. She just now noticed the light sprinkling of gray that was tinting his temples, while her hair remained the untouched dark chestnut it always had been.

"I'm sorry, Woody," she said suddenly.

He looked up surprised. "Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for not being able to get in touch with you about Meghan...that you haven't gotten to know your daughter...that you've had to deal with...with...your job all by yourself. That your marriage to Sandra didn't work out...You just seem so .... Alone."

He gently squeezed her hand again. "It's okay, Jo. In many ways, I guess this is the life I chose for myself. I mean that night...at your apartment...you told me that the Malden thing was behind us...that you didn't blame me...and I still chose to leave. I knew I shouldn't marry Sandy...that I wasn't over us...over you...I made the whole town of Kewuanne mad at me ...even Cal. I'm still not in good speaking terms with Mom and Dad over that.

But now it's different. I know I have a daughter...a family, of sorts. And when we get her back...when everything is back to normal again, I won't be alone."

Jordan paled. "You're not thinking of taking her...away...from... me?" The thought hurt so badly her lips could barely form the words.

Woody shook his head. "No...but I do want to get to know her...have joint custody or something. Summers. Parts of holidays..."

Jordan swallowed hard and pulled her hand from hers. Rising from the bed, she walked to her bedroom window, looking down into her backyard. A backyard filled with reminders of Meghan...her swing set...the playhouse....all her various toys scattered across the lawn. She realized this may happen when she called Woody...but the priority of getting her daughter back safely took precedence over any other concern at the time. Now it seemed that her worst worry...that Woody would take her daughter away...may come true.

"Do you think that is a wise idea? I mean she doesn't know you at all," she replied.

"She's already asking questions. You said so yourself."

"But don't you think your job could continuously put her in danger?"

"I can change jobs....it isn't that hard to get transferred. I may even could get transferred back into Boston."

Woody heard her take a deep breath, and before she even tried to reply, he said, "Don't worry about it now, Jo. I would never take Meghan away from you...but I do want to get to know her...I am her father. Joint custody is the fairest way for everyone to go..."

Jordan nodded, not trusting her voice. Her daughter had been kidnapped. By a group of individuals her father was involved with. And when and if she every got her back, Meghan may be taken from her again...that was something she didn't know if she could live with.

* * *

Another sleepless night that yielded another restless morning. Jordan was biding her time, waiting until time for her and Woody to drive to the parking lot on South Elm Street. She tried to stay busy...she cleaned the kitchen, did laundry, changed the bed sheets...the police had finally let her back into Meghan's room, so she cleaned it. Woody watched her with a half-amused expression on his face. He had never seen Jordan this domesticated. It was a new sight for him.

Max and Helen had come over...Jordan had introduced him to her step-mother. It was obvious that Jordan and Helen were very close and that Jordan loved her. Randy and Caroline had come with them and brought baby Hunter. Jordan immediately latched onto her three-month old nephew and held him closely while they talked. To Woody, it seemed he had caught a tiny glimpse of how Jordan must have been with Meghan when she was an infant. So Jordan had an almost intact family now...including another step-brother. Woody sighed again when he realized how empty his own life was. While his life had progressed professionally, Jordan's had progressed personally. He wondered if she knew how really blessed she was.

It seemed odd to him how much he could ache for a daughter he really didn't know and who herself had no clue he existed at all. He had heard her voice the other night over the phone as they talked with the kidnappers. His heart had broke right along with Jordan's when he heard Meghan say, "I'm scared, Mom...I want to come home." He heard the tremor in the child's voice just like Jordan did. It was all he could do to restrain himself and stay calm for her and her mother. All he wanted to do was jump through the receiver and wring the kidnapper's neck, if that could have been possible.

The sudden ringing of his phone stopped his train of thought. Flipping it open, he said, "Hoyt."

"Woody...this is Hinshaw. We've got a read on who the kidnappers are. Are you where you can talk?


	8. I'll Trade You

Nine o'clock finally came. Jordan had grown increasingly nervous as the afternoon hours had clicked away. Woody had done his best to calm her nerves, but nothing he could say or do could settle her down. In the past, he had known her to remain professionally cool. But none of the cases in her past involved her daughter.

They were in Jordan's bedroom that evening, getting ready to go. Woody had insisted that Jordan wear a bullet proof jacket underneath her shirt. She had chafed at the idea...and the Kevlar. He was firm. "You wear it. Put up with it. It may save your life. And if you get a rash, I'll deal with it when we get home." He had wagged his eyebrows at her suggestively. It worked. It at least broke the atmosphere enough to get her to smirk a little.

Woody put on his own vest, and secured his handgun. While he really didn't think anything more than a phone call would go on tonight, he wasn't going to be careless. He had warned Jordan of two things. First, they probably would not get Meghan back tonight. There would be a phone call and more instructions. Second, the people they were dealing with would want to trade him for their daughter.

She had been in the bathroom, brushing her hair as he stood propped up against the doorframe and revealed the news to her. He saw her fingers tighten around the handle of the brush just a bit...enough that her knuckles showed white. "You for Meghan...what will we do?"

"I'll go with them, of course..."

"But Woody..."

"Don't worry. The FBI is all over this one. Nothing will happen Jordan. I promise."

He had thought it odd how panic stricken she looked when he told her that he would go with the kidnappers. But he had let it go – chalking it up to the stress of the whole situation.

Truth was for Jordan, this nightmare just kept spinning on itself. First Meghan. Then finding out that Woody was the reason she was taken...now the possibility of trading Woody for her daughter. Of his getting hurt. Or worse. She loved her daughter. No doubt about that. But she didn't want anything to happen to Woody, either. He deserved to get to know his daughter. He deserved not to be alone. She ached for him....he seemed to incredibly alone...strong, yet beneath all the FBI bravado, he was vulnerable. Even more vulnerable than she was. She wished she could make life better for him...and she was facing that maybe, her feelings for this man, feelings she had worked so hard to push back down, hide away, were bubbling to the surface.

When she found herself alone after he had left her, after Peter and she had pulled the ruse of the one night stand, she had realized just what she lost. Not only her best friend, but someone she loved. Her pregnancy had compounded that feeling. But she couldn't find him. She had looked and called....all of her contacts. Eddie Winslow had even called in all his favors from everyone he had been involved with...no luck. Nigel had spent hours, searching databases. To no avail. Everyone kept coming up empty handed. So finally, out of sheer desperation, she had swallowed her pride and called his parents in Kewuanne. They had been abrupt. No. He wasn't there. He was gone. They didn't know where. Please don't call anymore. If it wasn't for you, he would have stayed in Boston and his life wouldn't have been in shambles.

She didn't tell them she was pregnant with their grandchild. She didn't have a chance. They hung up on her. She didn't call again. Not even after Meghan was born. She did call Cal. He was working in Milwaukee. He had flown out to see her and Meghan about six months after Meghan was born. And he didn't have any clue where Woody was, although he did talk to him from time to time. It seems when Woody had flown out of Kewuanne, he didn't tell anyone where he was going and had sworn Sandy to secrecy.

So she had put her feelings for Woody on the back burner. Concentrated on her job and being a good mother. She had tried dating after Meghan was born. She and Eddie had gone out. So had she and Nigel. It didn't work. She tried to blame it on the fact that being a single mom took all her time...that she didn't really have anything left over for a relationship with anyone.

She had only been fooling herself. The real reason she couldn't date anyone else was that none of the men measured up to Woody.

"You about ready?" he asked from the hallway, interrupting her thoughts.

"Be right there."

They went to her SUV and Jordan started to get in the driver's side. Woody gently took the keys from her hand and firmly led her to the passenger door. "My parade," he said simply. Wordlessly she got in and he began what seemed to be the longest drive in Jordan's life. They reached the phonebook on Elm Street about 9:30. Jordan began to fidget in her seat.

"So tell me, Woody, who are these guys? Do you know yet?"

"Yeah...I do. Hinshaw called me today."

"Hinshaw?"

"My boss."

"Oh...who are they?"

Woody ran his hand through his hair. Jordan caught the motion...some things never change. He always did that when he was agitated or annoyed. "They're out of London. They're arms dealers. Sold arms to terrorists. Or at least they did for years. Then I cut off their supply...and their money. Seems like they had a real money-making scheme going on....They're not too happy with me."

Jordan digested that bit of information. "Do you think they'll hurt Meghan?"

"No. Because if they did, they wouldn't get me. As long as I know she's alive, they can have anything of mine they want..."

Jordan's silence became deafening to Woody. "So tell me, Jo...why are your files classified?"

Jordan jumped at his statement. "How'd you know...no, let me guess. As soon as I called, you started checking me out..."

"No. Actually I started looking you up after I got back from Chicago. I told you quite a bit about me in ten minutes time. You said nothing about yourself other than the fact you weren't married. I was curious. So I began tracking you. I could only get so far when I'd get that damn 'access denied' message box."

Jordan shot him a half-grin. "Yeah...I know. Garrett thought it'd be a good idea after the Fitzsimmons thing we worked together on. The verdict and then the threats came in after Meghan was born. He was fearful for her...that someone would find out and hurt me and Meghan. So he had everything classified about me."

"Oh." Woody made a mental note to thank Garrett.

"What time is it?" asked Jordan.

"Five until ten. Let's go stand by the phone booth."

It seemed they just got there when the phone rang. Following directions, Jordan picked it up on the second ring. Taking a deep breath, she tried to remember everything that Woody had rehearsed with her that afternoon before they came to the parking lot.

"So we talk again, Dr. Cavanaugh," said the voice. This time, Jordan did detect a slight British accent.

"How's Meghan?"

"She's fine. Would you like to talk with her?"

"Of course."

There was a pause, then Jordan heard her daughter. "Mom?"

"Hey Sweetie...how are you?"

"I'm okay....I'm not as scared. I'm trying to be brave...but I want to come home." Jordan shut her eyes...the tears were threatening, but she didn't want to frighten her daughter.

"Have you had dinner?"

"Yeah...chicken fingers and French fries."

"We're working really hard to get you home..."

"When can I come back?"

"Soon..."

"Dr. Cavanaugh?" the man with the British accent said.

"I'm here."

"I'm sure that Special Agent Hoyt has told you exactly why we have taken your daughter. And I'm sure you know that we really have no interest in keeping her. We will trade you your daughter for Hoyt. Him for her. We will deliver her safe and sound to you, if you deliver him safe and sound to us."

"How do I know you'll keep your word?"

"We're many things, Dr. Cavanaugh. Child killers are not one of them. We are businessmen, not murderers."

"What will you do with Hoyt?"

There was laughter. "Bring Special Agent Hoyt to the warehouse off interstate 68...the abandoned one. Make sure his hands and feet are bound with duct tape and he is left in the guard shack outside the back entrance. No Kevlar, no gun...no tricks. As soon as we retrieve him and know you've done what we've asked, we'll call you and tell you where you can pick your daughter up."

"No. I want my daughter when I deliver Hoyt to you."

There was mumbling in the background. "Okay. We'll give her to you there when you deliver Hoyt."

"When do you want him?"

"Tomorrow night...midnight. And no cops...no FBI. Or you, Hoyt, and your daughter won't come out of this alive."


	9. Duct Tape and a Guard Shack

**

* * *

Chapter Nine**

They drove home in silence. Woody absent-mindedly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and Jordan looking out the passenger side window. When they arrived back at Jordan's house, Woody helped Jordan out of the car and then went in the house and got on his cell phone. He needed to call Hinshaw. He needed to get things set up for tomorrow night. He took off his Kevlar, rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie and got to work. Three hours later, he sat back in his kitchen chair with a sigh. It was done. He had his agents in place. Jordan would be none the wiser, neither would the Boston PD, who he had deliberately kept out of the loop. Too many officers...may not be a wise thing. One smart-assed, over-eager rookie could screw up the whole scene. And his little girl was not the price he was willing to pay. He reached in his back pocket for his wallet. Jordan had given him Meghan's latest school picture.

He gazed at his daughter for long minutes, his fingers gently tracing the small face. The long chestnut-colored hair... so much like her mother's. And he gazed into his own eyes. Blue. Crystalline blue, was what Jordan had always called them. She had confessed to him yesterday that those eyes of his had made her knees nearly buckle every time she looked into them. And it only took a roll of her daughter's eyes to wrap Jordan around her little finger. Woody wondered what kind of effect Meghan would have on him....and he on her. He didn't have a sister, so his experience with little girls was kind of limited. If Max's and Jordan's relationship was any key, Meghan would soon be leading him around by the nose. He smiled. Not an unpleasant thought.

He had asked Max yesterday who Meghan was most like...and Max said it was a mix. She could be stubborn, like Jordan, when she thought she was right. She was also cheerful and had a sunny disposition, like her dad. She was loving and caring. And smart as a whip. Made all A's in school. Woody was going to give Jordan the benefit of a doubt on that one. His grades in school had been average to dismal. Pushing out of the chair, he went upstairs to take a shower. He needed to get some rest. They all did. Tomorrow night was going to be harrowing, at best.

He showered quickly, using the bath in the hallway upstairs. Jordan's bedroom door was nearly closed, he assumed she was asleep. It wasn't until he was leaving the bathroom, that he heard the sound of her muffled crying. Donning his sweatpants, he cracked open her bedroom door. She was curled up on her side, away from the door, her face buried in the pillow, trying to cry softly. He walked over to the bed and eased down beside her. "Jo?"

She turned to him, her eyes red-rimmed, her face tear-streaked. He took her in his arms and held her for long minutes. "She's going to be okay, Jordan...just fine. Tomorrow night, you'll have her back with you. Won't that be great? She's safe..and tomorrow she'll be back in her bed..."

"I know...I hope. I just keep wondering what if..."

"Don't let your mind go there. Everything's going to be fine..."

"But what about you, Woody...How...?"

"Don't worry," he said, cutting her off. The less Jordan knew the better. He smoothed her hair away from her face. It had grown even longer than it was years ago when he was with the Boston PD. She was letting it fall in waves...and most of the time she kept it loosely pulled back or pinned up. He had watched her take it down a couple of times since he had been back. He could get used to watching that every night. He could get used to helping her take it down and brush it out. "Go to sleep, sweetie. You're going to need everything you've got to get through tomorrow night." He held her and rubbed her back until he felt her body relax and her breathing become soft and even. With a sigh, he tried to ease himself off the bed, until she reached out and pulled him back.

"Stay," she said softly. "Just stay...with me...tonight. I have a feeling we're going to need just to hold on to each other to make it through the next 24-hours."

He acquiesced. He even agreed. Settling down beside her, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. Together they fell asleep.

* * *

Ten o'clock. It was almost time to go. Hinshaw had snuck in the house earlier, disguised as an appliance repairman. He and Woody had gone over all the details. Jordan had watched the two from the living room. It was obvious that Hinshaw thought a great deal of Woody, and wanted him back in DC as soon as possible. Jordan's stomach had clinched at that remark. Hinshaw left and then Woody began to get ready. He threaded a small wire microphone through his undershirt...it was the tiniest Jordan had ever seen. He then got the rest of his clothes on. Jordan was not happy he didn't wear Kevlar.

"Please, Woody," she had begged, "For me and Meghan?"

On impulse, Woody had bent down and gave her a hard kiss. "That's exactly the reason I'm not wearing it, sweetheart. The instructions said no Kevlar."

"But..."

"No buts. And don't worry. I'm covered."

Jordan gave him one of her patented Jordan stare-downs. "I am," he insisted. "Don't worry. Have you got the duct tape?"

Jordan knew that one of the hardest things she was going to do tonight was take Woody into that guard shack and duct tape his hands and feet. They would be watching her... the kidnappers. She had to do it right. Woody had said so. She didn't know if she could....do that and then turn around and leave him...vulnerable...alone. But those were her instructions, both from Woody and Hinshaw. Take him in. Tape him up. Turn around. Retrieve your daughter. Drive away. Don't look back.

"How will I know if you're okay?" she had asked, after he had gone over her instructions for the fifth time.

He gave her a half-assed grin. "You'll know. One way or the other, you'll know. You just do what I've asked you to do. For once, Jordan, do things my way. Please. This way I will know that you and Meghan are okay. I'll be back in touch with you as soon as I possibly can...but don't be surprised if it's a while. And don't worry. Please. I've done things like this before and lived to tell about it."

She had nodded and tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

* * *

They drove to the warehouse in silence, once again, Woody at the wheel. As they turned in behind the warehouse, Jordan tried to catch sight of a car...a van...anything that may have her daughter inside...she saw nothing. She had asked the question to Woody through a look.

"She's here, Jo. Don't worry."

Woody turned off the engine and handed her the keys. "Ready?"

Jordan nodded. Woody had never seen her face so pale, or her hands shake so badly. Even with all the harrowing cases they had been on together through the years with the Boston PD, he had never seen Jordan so close to being this unglued...not even chasing her mother's murderer. "Got the tape?" he asked. Again she nodded.

He got out of his side of the SUV and went around and opened her door. "Woody...." She began softly.

"You can do this, Jo."

"I'm scared."

He briefly hugged her, hoping to reassure her. But he whispered in her ear, very firmly. "You will do this. You will be okay. And so will Meghan...because she has a mother who loves her very much."

They walked to the deserted guard shack. With shaking hands, she taped Woody's feet and then his hands. "You know what to do now," he said to her, even more firmly. "Go do it."

She bent down and quickly kissed him. "I know. I'll be waiting for you..." He winked at her and motioned with his head for her to get out of there.

Jordan turned and slowly began to walk back toward her car. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a movement. Turning her head towards it, she saw the slight form of her daughter walking across the parking lot. "Mom?"

"Meghan!"

The child broke into a full run and Jordan scooped her up in her arms, quickly put her in the passenger seat of the car and drove off at full speed, not even bothering to fasten Meghan's seatbelt or her own.


	10. No Word on Woody

**Chapter Ten**

Two days had passed since Jordan had retrieved Meghan from the kidnappers. Two days in which she reveled in her daughter. The first 24-hours, Jordan hadn't let her out of her sight. Meghan slept with her. Jordan stayed in the same room with her. The second 24-hours she had let Max and Helen spend some time with her. Eddie and Annie had come by, questioning her about how she got Meghan back. For the first time, in a long time, Jordan did not cooperate with the police. She answered their questions politely, but firmly, saying that Meghan's father had arranged everything.

"You mean Woody?" Eddie had asked.

Jordan had nodded.

"Why haven't you told us that Meghan was his daughter... and that he was FBI?"

"I couldn't...not with her life on the line, Eddie. I just couldn't. You have to understand my position."

Meghan had asked blessedly few questions up to this point. She told Eddie and Annie that the men were big and had dark hair and dark eyes. And that they had been very nice to her....gave her chocolate chip ice cream, her favorite. They had worked puzzles with her and played games. They didn't hurt her.

They just said that they wanted her father. "But I told them I don't have a father...or at least know who he is, Mom. And they laughed. They said they knew who he was and soon I would, too. Do you know, Mom? Do you know who my Dad is? Where is he?"

Jordan had held her baby close then and whispered to her. "Yes...I know who your father is...and hopefully he will be back soon and you can meet him, too."

"Will he live with us...they way Marcy's dad does?" Marcy was Meghan's best friend...and had an intact family.

"Ummmm....our family may be different, Meghan. We've never lived together....I don't know if we will now or not."

"When will he be here, Mom?"

"I don't know...but he'll be back as soon as he's through with the kidnappers."

This had satisfied the child for a while...but not Jordan. She was concerned. The first day that Woody did not return, she didn't worry too much. Woody had told her it would be a while. By the end of the second day, she was worried. And now with the beginning of the third day, she was beginning to get frantic. She didn't know how to get in touch with Hinshaw. She called the numbers on Woody's business card...the ones to the FBI office, but they were all Woody's direct lines...nothing on them.

But he had left his laptop in the kitchen. For two days, Jordan had purposely ignored it...almost afraid if she opened it, it would tell her things she didn't need to know...or want to know. But now she sat down in front of it and tentatively opened it up. Turning it on, she was asked for a password. She typed in every word she knew... Meghan's, his mother's, his father's, Cal's, even his first dog's name. Nothing. Sighing, Jordan pushed the machine away from her and picked up her cell phone. She punched four on speed dial. A few seconds later, Nigel's rich English accent filled her ear.

"Good evening, love. What can I do for you?"

"Can you come over, Nige?"

"Sure...anything wrong? Meghan?"

"Meghan is fine. She's upstairs asleep in my bed. I need you to help me do something,"

"What?"

"Break into an FBI computer."

"Sweet Nancy....I'll be right over."

It took no time for Nigel to figure out the password. He simply typed in _Jordan_ and the files opened up. "Imagine that," he told her. "He had to think about you every day for ....how many years?"

Jordan grimaced. "Over eight years..."

"True love does wait, doesn't it, love?" Nigel teased.

Jordan rolled her eyes. "The files, you blasted Limey, the files...tell me they say something about where he is..."

Two hours later, Nigel sighed in frustration. Whatever Quantico had taught Woody, covering your computer tracks must have been over emphasized. He could find nothing. He had a suspicion Woody left it that way in case Jordan did try to break into his computer.

"Coming up empty handed, love. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, Nigel. You tried. Maybe he'll come back to us soon." Jordan arose from the table and went over to the window to look out. She had driven past the warehouse a half a dozen times since that night...no clues whatsoever as to what happened or where he was. No signs of a struggle. No signs of him period. If she hadn't of been there, she would have doubted it had even happened.

So, as it had on her return from Chicago, Jordan's life returned to routine. Meghan went back to school. She went back to work. Two weeks passed. Then a month. Garrett knew she was distracted and why. "Still no word?" he had softly asked her one day after they finished an autopsy. She had shaken her head, not trusting her voice.

"You know what he said, Jordan. It may take a while, but he'll be back. Don't loose your faith...fate brought you two back together...I have a feeling fate meant for you to stay that way."

She left and went back home, and cooked dinner for she and Meghan. It was Friday, so neither of them had any plans. She and Meghan had rented _The Princess Diaries_ to watch after dinner. So after they ate, they went upstairs to Jordan's room to watch it in bed. Despite her vow to watch it all the way through, Meghan was soon sound asleep. Jordan flipped off the VCR and the light. She was equally as tired. It seemed that neither of them had been able to get their emotional footing since the kidnapping – although Meghan was doing a better job than Jordan. Jordan had heard about the resilience of children, now she had experienced it first hand. Other than the first few nights when Meghan had refused to sleep alone, the kidnapping hadn't seemed to bother her. The men had been nice...even doting on her. The main issue it raised in the child's mind was her paternity. Who was her father? She asked the question often...and until Jordan heard from Woody, she was loathe to answer it.

And the unanswered questions about Woody were slowly driving Jordan insane. She needed to know...she had to know...and couldn't find a damn thing. She had to find out for Meghan. And more importantly, she had to find out for herself...It had taken this event – the snatching of their daughter—to bring them back together. She remembered Garrett's comment about fate. In a crazy way, this had been fate's gift to her...she was reunited with the man she never really stopped loving...and she'd be damned if fate was going to snatch him out of her hands again. Still filtering these thoughts through her head, Jordan drifted off to sleep with her arm around her daughter.

Hours later, Woody let himself into her house. He had kept the key she had given him a month or so ago. As soon as all the loose ends were tied up with the kidnappers, he had made a bee-line for Boston, with his heart in his throat and a transfer in his pocket. Boston would once again be his home...he wasn't sure if it would mean living with his daughter and her mother, but he would gladly take whatever he could get. A relationship with his daughter...and one of some sorts with her mother. Quietly, he entered the house, surprised to find it dark. He had at least thought Jordan would be up. He climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to her room, and caught his breath. His girls...the two most important women in his life....were curled up in the bed together. He couldn't help himself. He padded over to the bed and gazed down at both.

It was hard to see where one chestnut head ended and the other began...their hair was exactly the same color. Jordan had Meghan snuggled up as close to her as she could get. He chuckled under his breath. He imagined Jordan hadn't let the child out of her sight since she came back home. He bent down, put his hand over Jordan's mouth, and softly kissed her cheek.

She woke with a sudden start, but before she could even try to yelp he whispered, "It's me." He removed his hand from her lips.

"Where...when..." she was so startled her words tumbled over each other.

"Shh....I'll explain in the morning."

"You're okay?"

"Never better." He pointed to the sleeping girl. "Meghan?"

Jordan nodded. He walked around to the other side of the bed and eased gently down beside the sleeping child. When he brushed the hair off her forehead, the Meghan woke up and gazed into a pair of blue eyes so much like her own...Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her knees and gave Woody a questioning look. "Dad?" she asked simply.


	11. The gods of Fate in Boston

**Chapter Eleven**

Woody nodded. He couldn't find the words...and there was this lump in his throat he had a hard time dealing with. Meghan launched herself from her sitting position in bed into his arms and hugged him tight. Woody just held her. Breathing in the soft baby shampoo-type scent of her hair – trying to capture seven years of memories in one hug. Finally Meghan broke away. "Where have you been?"

Woody chuckled. She was like Jordan in another aspect. Straight to the point. Cut to the chase. What's the bottom line... "Well...." he started.

Jordan rose slowly from the bed. "I'm going to give you two some time...I'll go make some hot chocolate and be right back."

"Can I have marshmallows in mine?" Meghan asked.

Jordan nodded.

"Amaretto?" Woody asked.

"For sure. A double for yours and mine."

Jordan fixed the hot chocolate and came back upstairs to find Meghan in Woody's lap, listening to his explanation about where he had been.

"So you've been with the President all this time?"

"Most of it."

"Wow...." Meghan thought about it. She had her dad and mom now...something she had always wanted. Although she had never mentioned it to her mother. Whenever she had asked questions about her father, her mother had always seemed so sad. She had promised Meghan that she had tried to find him, but couldn't. Even Uncle Nigel had tried to find him and couldn't. And Uncle Nigel could find anyone. So if her dad was working for the President...and what he was doing was really important and secret....no wonder no one could find him. But her dad was here now...but for how long?

"When...when do you have to go back, Dad?" she asked, absent-mindedly playing with the collar of Woody's shirt.

"I don't," he replied softly, looking over the little girl's head into her mother's eyes. "I've gotten transferred...back to Boston. So I can see you as much as I can. And your, mother, too. As much as she will let me."

Jordan digested this information as she handed Meghan her mug of hot chocolate and then gave Woody his. She gave him a soft smile across the top of their daughter's head. For the first time in weeks, Woody felt hope. It grew from a small, flickering spot in the pit of his stomach to a warmth that washed over his entire body. _Fate can be a bitch_, he thought, _or it can give you back everything you've ever wanted..._

* * *

Life in Boston was different now for Woody. A lot different than what it had been years before in the city. And much different than it had been in DC. When he was in DC, he had lived in a tiny townhouse in Georgetown. He drove into headquarters each day...now he had a smaller office in the FBI building downtown...right down the street from the Boston PD he used to work at. He had stopped in once or twice to get caught up... and catch hell from Eddie Winslow.

"Why in the hell did you leave a job like that?" Eddie had questioned.

"Priorities, man. Priorities."

"Yeah, but the President..."

"I still talk with him...almost everyday. And I'm flying back and forth. I still have the same job...just a different city."

"Yeah, but you could have moved Jordan and Meghan to DC."

"That was never really an option. Jordan's life is here...her family is here. Meghan is in school and has her friends."

"But still..."

"No. It's like I said. Priorities."

And he meant it. His "girls," as he called them, were his first thought in everything. Meghan had been gracious...eager to let him in on every aspect of her life. Jordan was being a bit more cautious, but was still allowing him access to their daughter...and was open with him. To the point, she had allowed him to move into her guest room until they could sort everything out. It was weird, but at the same time, strangely comforting. He learned the rhythm of his family. And they got to know him in a very familiar environment.

It worked well, until one evening when he came home from work. Opening the front door, he had called out "Honey, I'm home," joking with Jordan, who had emerged from the kitchen from putting up groceries. He still had a hard time dealing with this "domesticated" Jordan...the same girl who would let the contents of her cabinets get down to a pack of crackers and some jelly before she would go to the grocery store when he lived in Boston before, and developed into a great cook.

"Come in and make yourself useful," she had joked back at him. "Hard day, dear?"

He laughed at her. "Yeah...chasing terrorists...talking with the President....same ol' same ol'. What about you?"

"Another day, another body."

"Ohhhhh, I could take that sooooo many ways, Dr. Cavanaugh."

"Yeah....right...."

"Especially if it involved your body...."

"Woody," Jordan had protested, a warning note in her voice. He had flirted with her like a mad man since he moved in the house and now he was backing her up into the cabinets.

"What, Dr. Cavanaugh?" he answered, trapping her between the counter and himself, his arms on either side of her.

"Please ... don't call me Dr. Cavanaugh," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, the joking atmosphere dissipating. Her eyes had grown serious and big in her face.

"Why, Jo?" he asked, leaning his forehead down to meet hers.

"Because....you never used to call me that unless I had done something wrong...or you were upset with me."

Woody remembered. After the Malden thing, he had reverted to calling her Dr. Cavanaugh...even that night at her apartment...even right before he had taken her clothes off and made love to her. It was only then that he had called her Jordan...then Jo...then Sweetheart, mumbling the last name almost incoherently in her ear as they had climaxed together the first time.

"Sorry," he said, removing his arms from the counter to loop them loosely around her waist, his forehead still resting against hers. "Didn't mean to stir up bad memories."

"Not all of the memories are bad, Woody."

"I know...it just seems that towards the end..."

"Before you went back to Kewuanne?"

"Yeah....things got really bad."

Jordan nodded, pulling away at him to look him in the eyes. "But I meant what I said then...who could have predicted Malden? Not you. Not me. Not anyone. I am so sorry Woody. You have no idea how sorry I am...how badly I've felt all these years."

Woody was shocked. What was she apologizing for?

"Jordan," he whispered, "I'm not following you....what are you sorry for, sweetheart?"

She lowered her head, almost ashamed to meet his eyes. His arms were still around her waist, although they had tightened almost imperceptibly. Her hands rested lightly on his arms. "For following all the demons about my mother's murder... for pushing you away... for destroying what we had...what had just started between us...I'm just so sorry," her voice broke and Woody could see the beginning of a tear slide down her cheek.

"Hey," he said, still speaking softly to her, wiping the tear away with the pad of his thumb, "it's not all your fault. You told me that it was okay...that the Malden thing was over, that you didn't blame me. I chose to leave...."

"But I pushed you away...just like I did everyone else. I had no idea that it would make you leave. I took so much for granted....that you would always be there...that eventually it would work out between us...I was so stupid."

He pulled her close then, wrapping his arms around her, feeling the tears on his shirt. He wished he had never called her Dr. Cavanaugh. He had no idea it would illicit this kind of response from her. "Jo...it's okay."

"But if I hadn't pushed you away, you could have been here....all this time...for Meghan."

"And us?" he asked, pulling away and looking down into her honey-colored eyes.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

"So that's what's been bothering you the last few days? Guilt?"

"Yes...."

"Oh, Jo....don't. Don't feel guilty. You did everything you could the best way you knew how."

"But I do...all these years."

"You feel you've deprived Meghan of a father?"

"Yeah, and you and me of some kind of relationship. I don't know if it could have lasted, but I didn't even give us a chance to try."

"We've got now, Jo. Now. I'm in your kitchen and you're here in my arms. And you know what? It feels good. It feels right...It feels like I've never left Boston. And I can't help but wonder if your lips are still as sweet...and you're just as soft..." He tilted her head back and kissed her...not one of those quick pecks they had given each other during the kidnapping...but a full-fledged assault on her senses, opening her mouth and exploring every inch of it with his tongue. And feeling her melt a little more with each passing minute. When he finally drew back, Jordan felt like she was barely standing, holding onto his shoulders for support. Some things never change. His kisses could leave her breathless and senseless. She felt him shift her in his arms...

"Meghan?" he asked, gently trailing his hands up her sides to softly caress the sensitive skin on the back of her neck before he tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling it down from the clip she had it put up in.

"Girl Scout camp this weekend...won't be back until Sunday evening late."

"You're sure?"

"Girl Scouts honor..."

"Remind me to buy a case of cookies from her...." his voice trailed off has he took her in his arms and carried her upstairs. Tonight was Friday. Sunday was two days away. That would give them more than enough time to sort through everything....

* * *

He looked down at Jordan, as the early morning light flickered through the bedroom windows. He had made love to her again, like a man possessed...but this time, it had been like they were both trying to make up for eight years....and this time the devil himself couldn't make him leave her bedroom or her bed. He brushed the hair from her eyes and softly kissed her. She stretched and wound her arms around his neck. "What time is it?" she asked, yawning.

"A little after six."

"You working today?"

"No..you?"

She shook her head. "No..."

"Good....so we have time to...."

"We have all day...."

He groaned. All day...

Later, with Jordan cuddled close to him, the sheets pulled across her body, Woody softly asked, "Where do we go from here, Jordan?"

"A shower would be nice."

He lightly cuffed her. "Be serious...then we'll shower."

"I want you in my life again, Woody. I don't know what level you'll be comfortable at....I know you want to be with Meghan..."

"I love you, Jordan. I've never stopped."

Jordan felt like someone had somehow removed all the oxygen from the room. She looked at him... "You've never stopped?"

He shook his head. "That's why it didn't work out with Sandy...I was in love with you."

"Oh...," She swallowed and ran her fingers through his hair. "I've always regretted not telling you that night back in my apartment how I felt...that I loved you...I didn't want you to leave then, Wood. I don't want you to now."

He smiled down at her, capturing her fingers, kissing them, and placing her hand on his chest. "I'm not going anywhere."

She grinned back. "You know Garrett said the other day that he felt fate had brought us back together and wasn't going to let us be apart again."

"Fate?"

"Yeah...Chicago had to be fate...just think of the odds of seeing each other again in Chicago of all places."

"The beginning of a fateful ride, huh?"

"Sometimes fate has a way of giving you things you're not even aware you want."

"Like Meghan?"

"Yeah...her name even means 'precious gift'."

"Really?"

Jordan nodded.

"I know one thing, Dr. C," Woody began, jokingly.

"What's that Detective...I mean Agent Hoyt?" she teased back. Old habits were hard to break.

"I know that I'll take both the gifts that fate has handed back to me...and maybe a few more." His hand rested on Jordan's abdomen.

"Woody?"

"Sorry, Jo. I didn't think to use anything...everything happened so fast."

"You are so bad......You're beginning to make a habit of this."

He grinned down at her, giving her a wicked leer... "A habit fate seems to play a good hand in."


End file.
